Beached
by Shostakovich
Summary: Lisette's life was played out in the sand until an architect named Erik saved her from certain misery in a Persian harem.
1. Victim

_Fall, 1864_

The two girls leapt over the puddle, in synch like some twisted _Yom-tov_ dancers. They were pretty girls, one like a wood nymph, the other like a dark-haired angel. They laughed happily, singing Yiddish quietly in the dusk, as the sky breathed pink hues to the clouds.

Up ahead was a pair of men, comfortable in black suits, coats and hats. Their conversation was lost in the sea air, and unheard by their daughters.

"I find this upcoming year to be most promising, Reb Carlis."

"I as well. There has been a surprising amount of peace, and there was little harsh talk of others during the luncheon and study session. And did you not notice the favorable looks our daughters received from the young men?"

"Your daughter especially. Malkah has grown to be very lovely and feminine."

"I must admit, we do not call her Malkah in all company."

"No, And I cannot call my daughter by her given name either. I content myself to call her Lisette."

"_Oy_, what desolate lives we chosen people must lead, Reb Leblanc. We must change our names, hide who we are- all this to lead comfortable lives."

"And yet, somehow, we are blessed with these lovely girls."

"If only our sons were such wonderful creatures, I would be truly content."

---

Malkah, known as Yvette, and Maya, known as Lisette, spoke of less worldly matters.

"He is so handsome, Ma- Lisette, and how he looked at you during luncheon! I swear, he is going to come calling upon you at your aunts!"

"Bernard is not so very handsome, Yvette. It is his large eyes that give that impression." Lisette gave a smile that told Yvette that it mattered little to her.

"Oh, how I wish you were more romantic. You are such a great beauty, and yet you hold no respect for men!"

"That's not true," she protested, laughing. "I love _Aba_ very much. And I find my brothers show a little intelligence every few hours that I am in their company."

Yvette laughed, for although her friend's brothers were very mischievous, they were well known for their wit. Yvette herself rather liked Avi, the eldest of Lisette's four brothers, who was now just twenty. Lisette was sixteen, and Yvette was fourteen.

"And besides," Lisette pressed, "_Aba_ would want me to work on bettering myself."

"By catching a good match, yes he would. But not by skulking off, reading, as you so often do! Come now, Bernard has such a lovely honesty to him, and you must know he likes you very much."

"But I do not know that, Yvette. I myself have little eye for Bernard. In fact," Lisette looked about; they were quite alone, "I have a secret."

Yvette's eyebrows quirked up. "If it means you are not as unromantic as I thought..."

"Oh, Yvette, I am so much in love! I could not be less romantic! And he is so in love with me as well!"

"So have him speak with your father! You are old enough to be engaged."

"But Rémy is a _goy_, and the son of a count! How such a marriage could ever be endured by either of our families, I cannot know. It is quite impossible, and neither of us would consider an elopement-"

PCHIOUW.

A sudden shot rang out, and a scream followed from the distance. Yvette suddenly halted, and a hand raised to her stomach. "I- I--"

She fell to her knees, her fingers dampened red. Lisette let out a cry, and their fathers came running. "She has been shot! _Aba_! Reb Carlis! Yvette has been shot!" Lisette supported her friend, who was gasping for air. "Yvette," she crooned, "Malkah, stay with me."

"Oh, sweet God," Yvette raptured, "is this what it feels like to die?"

"No! No, no, no! It is not!"

"But I feel so breathless and free-"

"Yvette!" Reb Carlis gave a strangled whimper, and clutched his daughter. Lisette's father, a doctor, quickly pulled her away to inspect her wound and stop the blood flowing through her hand's faint wrinkles.

Lisette clutched her friend's limp other hand to her cheek, and kissed it, trying to bless the cool dampness of the fingers there. "Don't leave me all alone," she silently begged.

Yvette's breathing slowed; her eyes sought the stars. Lisette wanted to yell at those stars, for shining so brightly into her friend's doe eyes.

Then, the shine dimmed.

---

Reb Carlis let out an agonizing howl of agony. Not Yvette, his Malkah, his joy.

Lisette continued to hold one of her friend's hands to her lips, as if her whispered words could bring it back to life.

Reb Leblanc looked at the lovely girl lying dead on the sand and the poetry of how her eyes stared at the stars, dreamy even in death.

Two more shots rang out, and Lisette raised her head to the sound. She looked at her front, willing a bullet to have pierced her stomach, that she could join her friend.

Instead, a far worse reality met her pounding ears.

She turned to her Aba and Reb Carlis, only to find them glassy-eyed and red-faced. Red, like blood.

"No," she breathed, Yvette's hand slipping from her grasp. "No." She forced herself to her knees, lurching to her father as he fell to the ground beside Reb Carlis. "No!" Not Aba, too. It was just too much, and she let out a sob.

Footsteps crunching behind her on the sand halted her tears, and she spun quickly to face the intruders on her grief. Two men, with masks over the lower half of their faces, stepped up to Yvette's body indifferently. One spoke in broken French, and Lisette knew instantly he did it to mock her. She knew he spoke something else fluently.

"It's too bad you had to hit this one. She is great beauty. The Shah would have appreciated her."

Lisette suddenly felt all her loss pour into a cyclone that enveloped her, and she let out a feral roar of hate. "You killed them!"

"But look, what a beauty we have here!" the other said, his eyes gleaming darkly. Lisette stepped away when he approached, leaving her father's body nearly under his feet. "We won't hurt you unless you choose not to cooperate, girl. Don't move, and you will not be harmed."

Lisette only turned at that, and flew as fast as she could in her Yom-Tov dress, but she'd barely made it a few steps before a weight crashed into her, slamming her face first to the sand. She coughed, inhaling the grainy pieces, as her hands were grabbed roughly. She kicked, screaming into the beach, the only witness left to hear her cries.


	2. First Tear

_December, 1864_

Lisette woke unfeelingly at the crack of dawn. The changes had stopped three weeks ago, when she had finally been sold. Sold. The word made Lisette's stomach turn under her heart, which had long since shriveled. Nothing made her feel any longer, for she had closed her feelings away for safekeeping, possibly forever.

She knew nothing of where she was, not the language nor the people. They had dark skin, black hair. They spoke with a strange tongue, and no one spoke French, or Hebrew, or Yiddish. Lisette had tried all of them on a fellow European-looking worker, who only shrugged and replied in some hard Germanic language.

The other European worker, a girl with dark yellow hair and sad eyes, had only managed to tell Lisette her name, Nicolla, and her home, London. _Angleterre_. Nicolla was English. Lisette had given her the same information, but they had managed to communicate nothing more before Nicolla was sold to someone else.

All the girls working were either pretty or gifted; Lisette was the only Jew and the only European, except for one extremely beautiful Russian who had been there for less than two hours before being sold to someone with a regal bearing like a prince. Lisette felt the Russian girl's new owner would only mistreat her, but nothing could be done, of course.

Lisette was deep into the routine: wake at dawn, eat, clean, work in the garden, eat the midday meal, clean more, hide as best as possible while being inspected by possible customers, make a light dinner, eat some scraps, clean the eating-place, sleep. Nothing changed, and Lisette expected it to stay that way. She did not fear her boss, her owner, for she complied to his basic whims. She would rather wallow in nothingness here than live passionately loathsome of a new life.

Life, she knew, could never go on.

---

Lisette was polishing the entrance hallway with two brown-skinned girls who whispered constantly and stared at Lisette without shame when the bell rang throughout the place, signaling someone was there. Automatically, the three girls quickly took their things and disappeared into a side closet. They pressed together as they managed to squeeze the door closed. Lisette smiled indifferently as the others suppressed giggles. She guessed them to be thirteen and fifteen, or about that.

The man Lisette called the butler glanced at the doorway the three hid behind before opening the doors. The girls heard a gasp, and pressed their ears to the door to hear. "Your excellence," the butler said. One girl breathed "Shah!" into Lisette's ear. She understood enough from that word to make her shudder involuntarily.

The shah had come to steal someone away to his harem.

---

The butler led the shah away, and the three girls rushed away before they were caught hidden there. The two brown girls pointed to and named themselves; the younger was Richa and the elder was Aleena. Lisette smiled, did likewise.

Richa mimed fixing her hair, putting kohl around her eyes, and putting on their good linens, and Lisette nodded. Richa smiled, pleased at Lisette's comprehension, and led her to the sleeping-places of the many girls.

Lisette was dragged to where Richa and Aleena slept next to each other, and each changed quickly and brushed their hair with makeshift combs. Their black hair gleamed after they rubbed something into it.

Richa pulled out a crisp, pure white linen and pressed it upon Lisette's form, and Aleena clapped her hands together and smiled. Lisette let them dress her up for the shah; she knew, or rather hoped, he would have no interest in a dead-looking girl. They put a little kohl around her eyes, and used water to clean her neck and face, chattering all the while and calling out greetings to others who ran in to put on their finest. A few smiled or nodded to Lisette. She could not understand Richa and Aleena's actions; why were they helping her?

But it hit her: they were trying to make her appealing to the shah! She would be sold to him, and she would have to live in his harem. Anger coursed through her, and she was shocked at it. She did not want to leave this place: even though nothing felt right anymore, she felt safe here.

Richa paused making a braid in Lisette's hair, feeling her tensed neck. Richa placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, frowning; Lisette sat still, staring at nothing. Aleena quickly finished Lisette's braid.

The butler came down and called out something, something the master had told Lisette in halting French to mean 'come to the market room'.

She stood, Aleena and Richa on either side, and stepped forward. Another step, another. She made it to the doorway of the market room, and Richa and Aleena led her in behind perhaps the thirty others that were already there. She forced herself to the back of the crowd, glad she was shorter than many.

Aleena and Richa stayed by her side, held her hand, whispered sweet nothings to each other and to her in a foreign tongue. Lisette stared at the back of someone's head.

There was a loud clap, and silence fell. Lisette understood nothing of what the master said, and she did not care. But everyone else went to one side, and Richa and Aleena took her with them. Lisette watched a process that seemed disgusting to her.

Three girls walked in at once, bowed to the shah, turned about, and if he made a motion towards one, would bow again and move behind the master. The ones not given the signal bowed, crossed the room, and left.

Richa and Aleena gripped Lisette's shoulders, both looking eager. Lisette played dead, until they were at the front. Aleena went first, and Richa gave Lisette a slight push; she only recalled moving as if looking down upon herself. She bowed to the shah; turned; looked at his hands. They were strong, almost fat. She watched as he made a motion to herself and Aleena. The three bowed, and Richa gave a glance full of sadness to Aleena and Lisette before crossing the room away from them. Aleena steered Lisette to a place behind the master.

Lisette dimly realized the shah had liked her, or her form, at least. And she would probably never see Richa again. Aleena squeezed her hand, and Lisette returned the motion.

The girls finished; about fifteen out of the fifty or so had been chosen. They were made to stand in a line, and the shah and the master walked down the line. Lisette and Aleena stood at the far end from where they started.

The shah and the master spoke together about each girl, Lisette guessed, and some were sent away in a single moment. They bowed and left. By the time the shah came to the girl next to Lisette, only three of the others had been chosen to stay. The girl next to Lisette was sent away, and then the shah looked at Lisette.

He looked at her corpse-colored skin, and made her look into his brown eyes. He spoke to her in his language, but Lisette only shook her head and looked at her feet. Aleena bowed and spoke to the master, speaking for Lisette. Lisette cared little for what Aleena said.

The shah looked at her again. He felt her neck and waist, her cheeks and ears. He nodded, moving to Aleena.

Another instant and he had nodded; Aleena was very pretty by her brown standards.

Lisette's spirit sagged as the shah gave some of the foreign money to the master, who looked at Lisette and took pity at her lost expression. He spoke in his broken French to her: "You go with shah now, be his odalisque. You go to palace, be in harem. A great honor," he said. "You will there learn Persian, be a good odalisque."

Lisette looked at him, dismayed, but he gave her a warning look and she looked down again. Aleena took her hand, sympathetic. Lisette watched something splash on her foot; a single tear.

Lisette felt no more, and began her count: so far in Persia, one tear.


	3. Innocents

_7 March 1865_

Three months had passed since Lisette had been taken to the shah's palace. Three agonizing sets of thirty-odd days in which Aleena had taught her Persian, which Lisette found similar to Hebrew more than French or Yiddish. Now, she spoke four languages.

Aleena and Lisette helped each other along; through the change of scenery, the change of expectations, the change of bosses. The sultana, who ruled in the harem, was cruel; Lisette imagined her like a vulture of the desert, eating the carcasses of the girls and women dead at her hands, in chambers where everyone was made to watch, to know their fate, should they do wrong.

Aleena braved it with a strength Lisette could not help but admire; Lisette only let her eyes glaze over when she was made to watch a burning, a death in the heat of a glass room surrounded by candles; a torture session in a mirrored room.

Lisette had never known such atrocities, not in her whole life, than those that took place under the sultana's watchful gaze. But she played her part perfectly, as she always had. Even pining for futile passions in France, like the one she had been telling Yvette about before she was shot, was nothing compared to this horrendous breach of all things she knew to be right, to be moral. Lisette felt herself unconsciously preparing for her march into a chamber to be killed, even though the sultana had barely given her so much as a glance.

The eunuchs who watched over them were small, strong men; one was kinder than the others, and Aleena and Lisette clung to him in hopes for friendship and help. His name was Vadim, and he treated them like he would treat the sultana, when no one watched, to cheer them up. Aleena would laugh; Lisette would faintly smile.

Vadim told them how to stay alive in the harem; he had been there to see hundreds of deaths, he said. "Many were good girls, who had strength that the sultana envied. Be passive," he said, "and act helpless and obedient. Don't let her know you have strength."

Lisette was unfazed by this; she had known this from the beginning. Her strength on the shore in Nice had cost her a painful sprain of her ankle, on which she was made to walk, blindfolded, before being sailed away to what she now knew was Persia.

In her mind, she cursed Persia, and its people. Nowhere had she felt so helpless, so alone. Thank _YAHVEH_ that Aleena had taken pity on her. She could understand now what was said, and she heard one day with a dull thump in her chest when she was cleaning the sultana's private parlor that the sultana had finally noticed her.

"-young, and completely innocent, I think she would make a perfect gift to our architect," the sultana was saying harshly, as usual, from the bedroom to an unknown counterpart. "Skin white as bones, no darkness at all from the sun. She's as white as his infuriating mask." A woman's voice spoke something too softly for Lisette, cleaning the floor, to hear. "In the European sense, she is probably fine enough. She has the figure of an erotic statue I have seen in the shah's private chamber, and I am sure he desires her, if he remembers her."

At this, Lisette finished the parlor and went away. She shuddered and rubbed her hands on her arms. Vadim came in to help her with her water bucket. "What is the matter, that you are so pale?"

"I am always pale, Vadim. Who is the architect, Vadim, who has a mask?"

Vadim stared at her, stopped in the hall. He continued as soon as he paused. "Who told you about him?"

"I heard the sultana speaking, Vadim. She says-" Lisette could not continue, she was humiliated.

"She says you are to be a gift to him," Vadim finished quietly. He emptied the water into a trough and turned to her. "You know what this means, do you not? You shall be-"

"Thoroughly disgraced, yes," Lisette said. She held her hands over her ears, as if to block out the thought. "I do not know what to do, Vadim, I cannot do this." After a pause, she added, "I will be seventeen tomorrow."

"Seventeen! I thought you were just fifteen, if that at all. So very innocent. But you do have a very womanly figure, that is for certain." He coughed, almost embarrassed, and then saw the darkness of the hour. "It is time for sleep, now. I will escort you to your room."

He took her to where her window was; she left it open to avoid the hallways and the sultana. He gave her a boost she did not need and clambered in. She turned to thank him, and then he left.

She lay in bed, thinking.

---

She awoke earlier than she had ever before in the harem to a vicious knock. She leapt up, dashed to the door. She pulled it open to see a grim-faced Vadim. "The sultana has ordered all the odalisques to her large chamber. Hurry." He bowed, gave her an anxious look, and went on to the next room.

Lisette knew she had to be there. She closed the door heartlessly and pulled off her sleep-shift and slipped into her regulatory black long tunic and red tie-belt. She rushed out into a sea of other odalisques; she let their tide take her to the sultana's large chamber.

The sultana's large chamber was the room where she gave speeches. She always held an wood plant to hit the odalisques with, and used it frequently in between her screeching.

Lisette had been there a total of thirty-seven times since she had arrived, and she had so far still only shed one tear in Persia. Her capacity for physical pain surpassed what she could have imagined.

The sultana looked at Lisette with an evil look, and Lisette looked around for Aleena. She suddenly realized Aleena stood in her heart where Yvette had once been, and it sickened her almost as much as the sultana. Yvette could never be completely replaced, and yet it was happening.

Aleena, however, was nowhere to be seen. Lisette stood between two girls who looked at her with some suspicion as the sultana waited, strangely patient for all of two minutes. Then, she flew at the late girls, beating them around their heads. Lisette did not even wince, but stared with sorrow at their quiet shudders and cries of sorrow as they ducked painfully into line.

Then, the sultana spoke. "The shah has taken a new wife from among you, the girl Aleena." She looked at Lisette, suddenly angry at the girl's passive expression. "He wishes for me to give his son a new concubine as a gift." She flew at Lisette, slapping her atop the head. Lisette's knees gave way a little, but she kept her eyes on the sultana's. "You, girl, your name!" she screeched.

"Lisette," Lisette said.

"Ah, the French girl." The sultana smiled in a way that made Lisette's strength begin to slip away. "My husband would appreciate your figure. It would remind him of the gold statue above his door, if you should lie naked and moaning on his bed." Lisette tried not to be angry. She cast her eyes downwards. "Look at me when I speak to you!" The sultana whacked the wood plank onto Lisette's cheek, and she stumbled into the girl next to her, who moved away quickly. Lisette crumpled with the second whack, but made no noise nor shed any tears as the beating continued relentlessly.

It ended suddenly. "You will be a little darker, I promise, with scars and bruises next time you behave in such a stupid fashion. Stand up!" Lisette made herself stand, and keep her eyes on the sultana's. The sultana circled her, feeling around her waist and hips. "A pretty shape indeed. Tell me, Lisette, did you have a lover in France? A fool boy who would make you writhe underneath him-"

"No, sultana." Lisette spoke quietly, wishing she could disappear and reawaken in France with her brothers. The sultana gave her another slap with the plank.

"So you have never known such a pleasure. A pity." The sultana averted her eyes to the doorway, her smile eviler than ever. "Greet our architect, fool."

But Lisette had no desire to even see the architect. "No, sultana, I will not."

The sultana grabbed Lisette's hair fiercely and threw her to the ground, dragging her to face the doorway. Lisette squeezed closed her eyes, both to stop the tears and so she might never see the architect.

She was beaten more than she could ever remember anyone being beaten, and soon she lay there, feeling the sharp pains echo in her bones. She waited to die there, but a voice, the most beautiful voice she had ever heard, spoke.

"Stop." Instant relief. Lisette held back a sigh; she wondered if she would have green or blue bruises the next day.

"I am glad you like her. Is she not very lovely, in your standards?" Lisette felt herself dragged to her feet, and she kept her eyes closed.

"She is uglier than you, sultana." The voice was full of scorn, and Lisette's eyes opened, and she glared with all her willpower. A hand, stronger than any grasp she'd felt, took her chin. The sultana watched with a smirk. "Hideous." He pushed her away, leaving her with only a view of his cold eyes. She shut her own immediately.

She heard the man walk away, and the sultana laughed with malice. The doors banged behind him. "Yes, Lisette, you will make him a fine gift." A final slap with the plank left Lisette's vision blacker. She felt the sultana walk away. "Leave!"

Hands took her, lifted her to the doorway, and dragged her to her room somehow. They set her on her bed, and she faded into pictures of beauty and beaches and blood.


	4. Shadows

Lisette awoke into a different darkness than she had slept in. Night was all around her, and she ached. She stifled a groan, and stood somehow. She still wore her odalisque outfit, and she realized in the black, she might be a little invisible outside.

She had never been outside alone in the night since she had come to Persia; a sudden desire to run under the Persian stars overcame her, and before her rationale kicked in, she had crept out her window to hide against the wall. Black her tunic might be, but her skin was white, even darkened as it was by the bruises.

Lisette's eyes took a moment to adjust, but then, she looked up at the sky. _Breathtaking_.

The stars were bright and still and far away; Lisette remembered feeling half in the sky one night in France, but here, she felt so... earthly. So distant from everything else, and all alone. Alone.

She snuck along the wall, and realized she never had been past the east side of the harem. Glancing about, she moved low to the ground with strange ease. The sand and stones beneath her feet felt like nothing on her rough soles.

Soon, she saw a rather small building. She heard the voices of Vadim and another eunuch low in the darkness, and she crept closer. Peeking in a less-than-dark window, she saw a group around a few candles. One looked to the window suddenly and swore.

Lisette froze for a moment, her eyes wide and scared under the scrutiny of the shocked eunuchs. Then, she turned and ran. Straight into a man wearing black enough to be the devil. She fell back into the sand, her head hitting the bottom wall of the small building.

"Lisette!" Vadim came from a doorway, his voice coarse and low and angry. "You will be killed for this, if she finds out!"

Lisette answered without thinking. "Perhaps I should scream, then she could kill me and I would be free from this place. It would be a beautiful change."

"Even if you are sent to hell?"

"It couldn't be half as bad," Lisette whispered, rubbing the back of her head as stars ran away from the corners of her vision. "At least there, I am sure, they do not offer up humans as gifts or twentieth wives."

"Ah. I have heard the news of Aleena and the shah-in-shah," Vadim said, trying to see the dark shadow hovering over Lisette. "Come, I must take you back before you are seen."

"I am quite seen; you are seeing me, and so is this shadow of a man," Lisette said matter-of-factly. She tried to see him again, but failed. "Who are you, so quiet there? Speak."

"Why on earth should I obey a lowly odalisque who only earlier was beaten for not saying hello to me?"

Lisette froze from standing, on knee on the ground. The architect. The _French_ architect. Laure whispered the _Shma_ three times before daring to look up. The architect glowered down at her, or so she imagined. She still could not see him.

"Sir," Vadim said, seeming nervous for the first time, "please do not turn her in. She deserves nothing, she has never been so-"

"Quiet. I suggest you go back inside so I may speak to this girl." The architect was quiet, but Lisette knew anyone would obey his commanding tone. Vadim left, quiet as the grave, and Lisette felt her arm taken hold of. She gasped in pain, her bruises searing under the architect's hold.

"Ah, yes. You were beaten, rather than look at me." His voice was tinged with amusement and anger. "Stand up, then, girl."

"I'm not a girl," Lisette whispered, pushing herself to her feet. "I'm not a little girl."

"I never said you were little," the architect smirked. "How old are you, that you deny your girlhood, then?"

"Seventeen."

"No more than a girl, still. As the sultana would say, you're quite-"

"I have no desire to hear what the sultana would say. Let me go back to my room, before they catch me."

"I would not let them catch you, little girl," he said, almost mockingly. Lisette looked away, angry. "Do I sense some emotion? Come, be angry to me, little one, that I may laugh. Nothing is amusing any more; make me laugh."

"No."

"You are full of no's today, aren't you."

Lisette felt the urge to speak in French, and she did. "_Je suis seule_," she said, feeling strangely detached. He grasped her arms again, and spoke to her in French.

"You speak French? You are French? Why did they not say so?" He was urgent, biting into her bruises. She did not even give a sign she had heard him. "Tell me!" He gripped harder, making her stiffen, but she said nothing. Suddenly, his hands moved away, and grasped her shoulders. "Tell me, or-" His fingers wrapped around her neck. "Or I'll snap your pretty little neck and leave you on the sultana's couch."

"Do that," Lisette said,_ en français_, gasping for air. "See how she likes it, see how she will take it out on you. She hates you," she added, wondering if that was true. He pulled his hands away, finally, satisfied.

"So you are French. What is your name?"

"Tell me yours, and I'll tell mine." His hands played at her neck again, and she spoke quickly. "Lisette Le- Leblanc. Who are you?"

"I am Erik." She noticed he wore black gloves, and he took one off with his teeth. "Where in France?"

"Nice. But I was taken out- kidnapped, I mean, at Cagnes-sur-mer."

"You are strangely dispassionate about it all."

Lisette began to answer, but then remembered. This was the architect, the one she would be forced upon, and who might force himself on her. She shook her head, dizzy, and fell down to the sand. He knelt slowly, his knee touching hers. He touched the back of her neck, frowning. "You are warm to the touch, you may have a fever."

"In this weather? Is it possible?" she wondered. He nodded, and she gave an unhappy sigh. "I hope it kills me. Then I can go to heaven."

"You think you will be let in?" He was amused, and he put his glove back on and stood.

"I have done nothing I should not have done, except let myself fall a little in love with a _goy_." Why was she pouring out her secrets to an architect? "But I never found much wrong in following your heart."

"And what does your certainly cold heart say now?" Erik the cynical architect offered her his gloved hand, and she took it to pull herself up.

"Die," she said simply. "It wants me to die." Erik did not let go of her hand, and when she fainted and fell to the ground, he lifted her easily and took her to her room through the window.


	5. Fever, and Goodbyes

Her eyes were heavy, and she shivered. She felt her blanket beneath her, but her arms were too stiff to pull it over herself. She groaned.

Lisette had been sick before, but never so broken as this. Her head was a stone; her arms were like lead sticks full of metal instead of bones and flesh. Her brain rotated in her skull.

She managed to reach up to feel the back of her neck, recalling someone doing it before. "_Pretty neck_," she rasped. Then, she remembered. The architect, whose new name flew away just then, had told her she might have a fever. The architect, who was French, had said she had a pretty neck. His skin was almost as white as hers.

The thinking made her brain go faster and in more directions, so she stopped and let herself go back into nothingness. She felt sand between her toes.

---

Lisette remembered little of her sickness after she awoke from it the next day. The sand still sat between her toes at noon when she felt her head clear, and now it littered her floor. She had finally changed into a white shift and gone to eat, managing to not encounter the sultana on her way to the kitchens, where she saw Vadim.

Vadim stood hurriedly and came to her, pressing a slice of bread into her hands. "Why were you nowhere yesterday? I was worried the sultana had made you go somewhere," he said.

"I was ill. I think I was taken by a fever," she explained.

"A fever! I never imagined you to get sick. I'm surprised you are healed by now."

"So am I; last time I was caught by the fever, I wasn't half as bad as I was today, but it took me weeks to recover." She finished her bread and licked the crumbs from her fingers. "What happened today?"

"Nothing, but the girls were worried about you, not to mention the fact that you missed some chores." Lisette gave a sigh. "Yes, I know. Chores will be chores-"

"They aren't really chores, Vadim, more like orders to keep one alive." Vadim shrugged. "I wish I could go home. To Nice, or Cagnes-sur-mer. I want to see my brothers, and Yvette's sister and mother. They're all alone now."

"Who is Yvette?" Vadim's tongue danced at the strange name.

"She was my best friend in France. They shot her, and my papa, and hers. We were walking to my aunt's house in Cagnes-sur-mer from services for our new year. She was like my little sister. She would have been so happy if she could have still been alive-"

"Hush, do not speak of it. You will become sad, and the sultana will beat you again."

"How many beatings can someone survive through, Vadim?"

"I have seen girls killed in less than what you received yesterday, if I heard correctly. You will not die from her beatings. If she plans to, well, she will not kill you."

"I wish she would."

"I do not. I would miss you." He paused, looked furtive. "Who was the man in black, who bid me go away, yesterday?"

"The architect," she said. "Erik."

"The architect! He told you his name? Strange, he never tells anyone his name."

"He is French, _français_, like me, Vadim."

"Yes, of course, that is probably one reason the sultana wants him to ruin you, as you think of it."

"But he could well have already, Vadim, and he did not. I fainted before getting to my room and he must have taken me the rest of the way. He could have killed me or strung me up on the sultana's couch."

"Even stranger. He is outside at night, he speaks to an odalisque, and he helps her in her hour of need. Something is going on beyond either your control or mine. Be careful, Lisette, lest you be torn apart by the many forces working upon you."

"Many? I only know of the sultana."

"Her, and your own desires, and mine, and now we must worry about the architect. I do not know who holds greatest sway over what happens to you, though it is certainly not me."

"If it were you, I should be severely happy, Vadim."

"I hope so, Lisette, O, how I hope so."

---

After talking more with Vadim, Lisette went outside to polish a statue in a courtyard with another girl, who introduced herself as Naamah. "I am Lisette," Lisette replied.

"I know," Naamah said. "I know I should not be pitying upon anyone, but I feel you have a terrible lot. Aleena gone away, and then the sultana wanting you to be a gift to that architect! What horrors."

"Horrors? Oh, no, after what I have gone through, it is merely another hit of the plank, if you will."

"I suppose. Where are you from?"

"I am from France. And you?"

"Palestine. Are you Christian?" Naamah stared intently at the base of the statue, not looking at Lisette.

Taking a chance, Lisette said, "No, I am a Jew."

"_Yisrael_!" Naamah cried out. She took Lisette's hands and kissed them. "I never thought I'd meet another of us here, in Persia. Evil Persia, that steals us away!"

"You are Jewish?" Lisette was becoming inflated with ecstasy. "Oh, _todah raba, YAHVEH_!" she cried to the sky. Her eyes were filmed with happiness.

"I am so happy now, Lisette- but that is a very Christian name, Lisette," Naamah said. "Don't you have a Jewish name too?"

"Maya," Lisette said, and smiled. "Maya." She had not said it in so long, it felt like cool water in her mind. "I am Maya, Naamah."

"Such a sweet sound was never heard to my ears," Naamah promised. "But we must work and talk at once, lest we be beaten." They wiped the statue, their hands touching and eyes full of joy.

Naamah started a prayer, and then they worked their way into a dozen and more blessings: for the sky, the ground, the new experience. For rainbows.

"Lisette! Lisette!"

Lisette and Naamah stopped mid-_Shma_ and turned to see Vadim running, eyes shining with some trepidation. "What is it, Vadim?" Lisette asked.

"The sultana wishes to see you, Lisette," he said, looking worried. "You'd best hurry, she was screeching at someone before she bid me find you."

Lisette exchanged a look with Naamah, and ran.

---

Ignoring her semblance of disarray, Lisette knocked on the sultana's door. It was wrenched open. "Come in, girl." Lisette entered and bowed when she saw the shah sitting on the couch. "Husband, is she not a perfect gift for your architect?"

"Hmm." The shah sounded annoyed. "I would rather save her for myself, rather than waste her on him. She is lovelier than I remembered." Lisette stayed in a bow, her eyes on the floor as she knelt. She kept her hands still, even though she felt the loathing coursing through her veins. Insulting people, acting as though she was not there.

"You will regret it, husband," the sultana purred. Lisette wondered who was speaking for a moment; the sultana had only yelled, hissed, or shrieked in her presence. "She will become lifeless without youth to give her passion, and besides, your new wife was one of this girl's friends."

"So they would get along. I would take this one as a wife."

"So soon? I think not. Never have we given your architect a suitable gift, and here is our chance to be rid of this white-skinned corpse. She is a weakling, husband, unfit to bear physical pain. She will die in giving a child; why not let it be the architect's and not yours."

The shah humphed, and the sultana spoke to Lisette. "Girl, you will be our first gift to the architect. If you fail to please him on your first night with him, know you will be burned and tortured twice before you die. We will make you prepared for pleasuring him, correct, husband?"

The shah grunted an affirmative, and Lisette was sent away. She sagged against the first wall she came to where no one was looking, and tear two escaped from her eyes.

Naamah appeared at her elbow, and guided her to a room. "What is wrong, Maya, what is wrong? Why are you so sad all of a sudden?"

"The sultana has made the shah approve of her plan," Lisette cried, her face resting in her hands. Feeling Naamah's confusion, she let out a moan of frustration. "She will make me go to the architect as a gift, Naamah, and they'll kill me if I don't let myself be ruined by him! I cannot do it, Naamah, I cannot!"

Naamah held her friend, and whispered worthless consolations in her ear. Lisette let her, knowing there was nothing more to be done.

---

They sat there like that until a knock on the partially open door sent it flying open. There stood Vadim, looking panicked. "Thank goodness," he said. "I was so worried she had done something to you."

"She has," Naamah cried unhappily. "She has made she shah agree to her being a gift for that architect! What more could she possibly do to make her more miserable!"

Vadim eyed her with some confusion. "You are Naamah, from Palestine?"

"Yes." Naamah glared at him.

"I only wish I could run away, Vadim, Naamah. Maybe we could all go." Lisette had spoken wistfully, her head on Naamah's shoulder. "Then we could go to France, and you would always be welcome in my home."

"That's nigh impossible," Vadim said. "It would take a very conscious effort to sneak away."

"Is it possible, Vadim?" Naamah demanded. "Can it be done?"

"To run away is to risk the anger of the sultana." Lisette's eyes closed at the voice of the architect. Naamah gripped her hand tighter. "And the shah. I do not suggest it. Whatever fate you face cannot be worse than one in the fire pit or the mirrored room."

"Both of which I seem to recall you made," Vadim noted drily.

"Indeed," the architect said dispassionately.

"Nay, her fate would be far better should she succumb to the fire pit or the mirrors!" Naamah's chest heaved from her anger and inability to help her new friend.

The architect raised his eyebrows as he shut the door behind him and leaned against it, arms crossed. "Oh? What horrible fate awaits her, then? Will she become wife one hundred to the shah? Personal slave to the sultana? Heaven forbid that she should be sent to be some rich man's son's concubine."

"You would shudder to do any of those things willingly, and here you mock us! But no, she is not subject to any of those things. She is to be sent as a gift, sir, to a most cruel man. And if she has not been thoroughly disgraced by the morning, she faces a long death in the fire."

"Who is this horrible man of whom you speak, fiery one? Who makes you so angry? Who will ravish your friend, to save her pitiful life then, hmm?"

"You!"

The architect looked like he'd been slapped. He opened his mouth, looked at Lisette, whose face was turned into Naamah's shoulder, and looked back at Naamah. "Me? They want me to- No, I'd never do that."

"For someone so quick to kill, you show a strange sense of morals," Vadim said unhelpfully. He knew Erik the architect cared little for the more sensual pleasures of life.

"Lisette has been sad, and maybe even sick, because this has been weighing on her!" Naamah was at it again.

"Stop," Lisette said. "He understands." She opened her eyes and fixed them on Erik's. "Will you help us? Will you take us away from here, and-"

A hard knock on the door interrupted the conversation. Erik and Vadim rushed out the window, and Naamah opened the door to see another eunuch. "The sultana wishes to see you, Naamah."

"Thank you, Oman." Naamah turned to Lisette. "Go back to your room, Lisette, or better yet, outside. Get some air and solitude."

"Yes, Naamah."

"Goodbye, Lisette."

Something in Naamah's tone made Lisette wonder if Naamah was saying goodbye for the last time.


	6. Histoire

Lisette sat in her room, her head spinning from pacing in the small confined space. She finally decided to chance going outside and climbed out her window, dropping the short fall with unwelcome familiarity.

She paid little attention to where her feet took her, and was therefore a little surprised, but not altogether shocked, that she found herself in front of the building where she had seen Vadim the night before she was taken by the fever.

She went to it and ran her hand along the wall, humming a Yiddish song that had suddenly sprung into her head. She was almost to the corner when someone called out her name.

It was Vadim, coming towards her at a quicker pace than usual. "Lisette!" Lisette looked at him. "I have been waiting for you, why did you not instantly seek me out?" he admonished.

Lisette looked to the ground. "I am sorry, Vadim."

"As long as you are all right now." Lisette smiled dimly at him. He seemed to realize something. "Lisette, do you have a surname?"

"Of course I do, Vadim. What a silly question! Doesn't everyone have a surname? Do you?"

"Yes, but I do not recall it; I never used it. I am simply Vadim. What is yours?"

"I'm Lisette Maya Leblanc."

"A very lovely name. And a great pleasure to finally know it." Vadim bowed to her with a smile. "I know very little about you, Lisette Leblanc. And you know very little about me."

"This is true, Vadim. Tell me about yourself. What do you believe in, where are you from? And how did you arrive here, in the shah's compound?"

Vadim sat down against the wall of the building, and Lisette joined him. "I was born in Srinagar, in India, but I came to Persia when I was very young with my brothers. My father was a laborer; my mother was a laborer's daughter. However, one of the shah-in-shah's uncles took a liking to my mother and had my father killed so he might have my mother."

"Oh, Vadim, how did you ever make it through?" Lisette was horrified: this was like one of the Hebrew kings...

"The shah took two of us brothers in, and the others went to work for the shah's other relations. Haman, my other brother who had worked here, died at the hands of the sultana a few years ago. Despite him being a eunuch, he was having a... relationship with one of the girls in the harem."

"That was not very smart of him." Lisette then covered her mouth with her hand, and said, "I am sorry, that was a very rude thing to say."

"I agree with you, however, I would not attempt such a foolhardy thing. Haman was never very sensible, and he died for his faults. I cannot blame him except that he could not control his urges." Vadim folded his hands together and looked at Lisette. "Now, it is your turn. Tell me, what has your life been like so far? Short though it has been," he added.

"It does not seem so very short, but compared to you, I am sure I will tell too much."

"Impossible," Vadim said. "I wish to know all about you, as a friend does."

Lisette smiled at him, pleased. "Well, I was born in Nice, which is in the south of France. My father--' she swallowed, sadness coming into her eyes, "- was a medical doctor, and my mother sang opera in Italy. She was ill, and he tended to her, and they fell in love."

"How very romantic," Vadim smiled. "I am sure you had a very happy childhood."

"I did, until my mother died. I was seven, and she died exactly one month after my birthday. _Aba_- my father, I mean, was heartbroken, and sent all five-"

"Five? You never mentioned siblings."

"There is not much to say. I have four brothers, that is all. They are not very interesting, except they all have excellent wit and humor. Only Benoit is very different, but that is because he likes me very much. He's the only one younger than me. But to my story, Vadim, you have made me go off into other stories for other times."

"I'm very sorry," Vadim said, eyes twinkling with amusement at her pseudo-stern tone.

"So all of us, Louis, Xavier, Pierre, Benoit, and myself, were sent to Cagnes-sur-mer to stay with my Aunt Élise. We were there two full years; I am not sure what my father did except that he went to his hometown in Lithuania and Italy. He may have come here, for all I know of his time alone. My brothers and I grew very much during that time."

"I am truly sorry for your loss, Lisette. I do understand it."

"I know you do, Vadim. Thank you." She paused, but her face grew longer. "During my time in Cagnes-sur-mer, I made a great friend, Yvette. She was two years my junior, and was killed when I was taken here, along with her father, and mine."

Vadim took Lisette's hands in his own. "How terrible, Lisette. How did you survive your journey here without dying of sorrow?"

Lisette pondered on this for a moment. "I only know my ankle- it had broken when I tried to escape, hurt dreadfully, and it kept me awake. And I knew I had to see my brothers again, and tell them the truth of _Aba_'s death."

"Do you miss them?"

"More than anything. Oh, Vadim, I cannot stay here. Death or run away, I have to leave this place. I might even let myself go crazy, if I can escape from this horrible reality."

"You must be very desperate, girl, to have a death wish like that."

Lisette gasped, and Vadim leapt to his feet, turning on the architect, who had sat silently beside him, unnoticed by either. He stood, and he looked down at Vadim. He wore a hood, but his eyes glittered out of his sockets.

Vadim looked up at him, only slightly afraid. "Sir," he began.

"The sultana will soon send a eunuch requesting my presence. Tell her, or him, that I will not grant her the _honor_ of seeing me." When Vadim did not move, the architect moved closer, forcing Vadim to step back. Now, the two stood around Lisette, who felt small and unimportant next to the two men.

"Go, or you will answer to me when I am disturbed." His tone was quiet, but deadly, and Vadim only gave Lisette a fearful stare before leaving them alone at the wall. The architect turned to Lisette, and spoke in French to her.

"We must talk."

Lisette did not reply, but instead stood and tried to go around him to follow Vadim. The architect grabbed her arm. "Let go." She did not give him the pleasure of speaking in French; she spoke Persian.

He growled slightly. "I will not; we must talk. It is urgent, unless you want instant death. I will kill you if you do not find fit to speak with me. You will not be disappointed, girl."

Lisette winced when his fingers dug into her arm. "Very well," she said. He let her go, and she stepped away from him. He eyed her, then took her hand. "Monsieur!" she said, struggling to pry her hand free.

"Only to keep you from running away, my dear," he said from beneath his hood, leading her into the building and down a long hallway decorated with doors. He stopped at one on the left and took out a key. Lisette stared at the ridges on the bronze tip, and he slipped it into the lock. The door clicked open, and the architect looked up and down the hallway before releasing her hand and motioning her inside.

Lisette stumbled in slightly, her almost awkward footfalls silenced by the thick rug. She stood straight, tugging on the skirt of her white tunic and then rubbing her arms.

The architect came in and turned to lock the door. When he turned back, he regarded her for a moment. Then, he pulled off his hood.

Lisette fell to her knees on the Persian rug.


	7. Disguise

Lisette had always found disguise to be one of the most difficult professions of her life. Besides being a constant actor, Lisette had been a sister, daughter, mother-figure, beloved, friend, student, teacher, and now, slave. But nothing compared to the disguises.

And yet here, before her, stood a man whose essence seemed to revolve around his disguise, around the mask that captured half of his features and made him hard to look at.

But Lisette could not tear her eyes away. He was strong, in body and character, much stronger than she. He was something otherworldly as he stood there, with his fine physique and his imposing stare.

The mask kept coming back to her. Something in it frightened her and reassured her at the same time; she knew he was dangerous, deadly even, but something made her feel like the pain would be for someone else.

She knew, in the confines of her mind, that such safe thinking could not be true.

---

Erik the architect was inspecting the girl as she stared at him with wonder. He felt her eyes travel down and up his frame; when she had fallen to her knees, he felt more powerful than the shah, for right now, Lisette was under his spell, and no one else's.

He had to admit, he had never seen her properly. But now that her face was tipped to his, he could not deny she was lovely. Her face had the same abstractly rounded perfection he had once used in a statue; the shah had appreciated the statue greatly. No wonder he had chosen this girl to come to his harem.

And her slim yet womanly figure, how could he not have noticed it before? It enticed him, and he almost shuddered at the thought. Her skin was whiter than his, and her hair a brown that seemed closer to black.

Erik the architect would have been content to stare at her for an eternity, but not when she stared back.

He went over to her, and spoke in his heavenly voice. "Come," he beckoned. She stood, taking the hand he offered her without thought before quickly pulling away, skin searing. He smirked.

Erik led her into another room, and she stopped behind him, staring at the luxury before her. She'd not seen so much splendor since France. He turned to her, and pointed to a chair. "Sit," he said.

Lisette sat. She fingered the pattern on the soft material, realizing she'd seen a similar design in her aunt Élise's sitting room. She itched to curl her legs under her as she'd done countless times with Benoit on her lap, but that was impossible here. Anything familiar was impossible.

The architect looked at her with a strange smile on his face. "Have you never seen such a chair before, then?"

"Of course I have," Lisette whispered. She cleared her throat. "There is one very similar to this in my aunt's house, in Cagnes-sur-mer."

"Where you were taken."

Lisette swallowed; she felt horribly confined and yet an eternity seemed to distance her from the architect, who had settled on a couch across from her. A small wooden table lay between them, and Lisette looked at his hands. They were strong hands, almost too big, but the fingers were longer than most people's.

"We must talk," Erik the architect said. Lisette drew her eyes to his, drinking in his appearance. He looked away after a moment, and she blinked before he spoke again.

"I trust your day went as well as can be expected for an odalisque."

Lisette nodded dumbly then she shook her head slightly. Erik leaned closer, frowning. "Naamah, she was taken to the sultana." Lisette stood. "I must go, I have to go to her," she said. She was distracted, and Erik moved into her way. Lisette stared at his chest, which was at her eye level, then looked up.

His eyes simmered at her with emotion, and he took her hand and led her back to her chair. He silenced her pleas with simple looks, and she sat as if under a spell as he fetched one of his robes to lay across her lap. She clutched at it, bringing it to her chin.

A smell hit her nostrils, and she immediately recognized fruit. And spices, of all things. She smiled into it, rubbing the material on her cheek. Erik questioned her about her sudden, soft smile.

"Your robe," she said. "It has a smell, of fruit and spices." She blushed at the amused look the architect gave her, and looked away. "It does."

"No one has ever mentioned that about my robes. Of course, no one has ever had the chance to smell them, so that does make a certain amount of sense." Lisette's eyes snapped to the architects'; was she really the first person to be this close to his robes? "But we must talk."

"Naamah," Lisette whispered. She would have gotten up, but Erik's eyes held her in place.

"She is being prepared as a gift to the shah's son. We have more pressing matters on our hands, however. Make no mistake, your chances of seeing Naamah again are very low. However, you will be seeing the sultana again very soon unless we do something."

"We? What can I do?" Lisette was churning with unease.

"I am willing to help you escape, if you would allow me. And we shall return to France," he said.

Lisette's mouth fell open. "You would- you would do that? For me?"

The architect looked annoyed. "I have just said I would, didn't I?" Lisette swallowed.

"Forgive me, but I am too amazed. How can you possibly think I would say no? To go back to France, it would make me whole again."

Lisette stood shakily, the robe still clutched in her fingers. She walked to him; he stared at her as she approached and took one of his gloved hands. Kneeling, she brought it too her lips and kissed the back of the glove, too embarrassed to look at him until she let go of his hand.

He was looking at his glove very carefully. After a minute, he raised his eyes to hers. "You are welcome, Lisette."

It was the first time she could recall him saying her name, and the sound of his wondrous voice saying it made her feel angelic, and she smiled.

The moment of serenity ended when Erik stood abruptly. "I must make plans, then, for us. Speak to no one of our plans, little girl, or you and I will face an ugly death."

Lisette nodded, and he offered her his hand. She accepted it and stood; he did not let go at once but instead looked at it as it lay there passively in his.

"Such pale hands," he said. Then, he came out of his half-trance and let her hand go. It fell limply to her side, and she stepped back, overwhelmed by the closeness. She had not been so close to someone she did not consider friend or family or fellow slave since Rémy, and the thought of him brought tears to her eyes.

"What is wrong?" Concern was prominent in the architect's tone.

Tears three and four and twelve fell from her chin to land on her feet. She lost count, and could only whisper, "Rémy."


	8. Rémy

_Summer, 1864; Cagnes-sur-mer, France._

"_Bon nuit, papa. Bon nuit, maman._" Raymond-Michel listened with satisfaction to the goodnight replies of his parents, knowing they would leave him be until the morning, assuming that he would be in his room.

Raymond-Michel gave a silent chuckle as he realized just how very foolish an assumption that could be.

He slipped his feet into his riding boots with well-practiced quiet, and arranged his dark cloak around his shoulders before slipping onto his balcony. The summer air was salty and heavy about him; he felt as though he was surrounded by a field of tears.

A perfect atmosphere for sneaking off to be with Lisette, he mused.

He hummed to himself as he swung into the branches of the tree that stood by his balcony and made his way down to the ground, dropping lightly for a few feet. The reality of his landing always sent pleasured tingles down his spine.

He jogged easily to the stables, petting his dark brown mare Belle and leading her out into the darkness. Raymond-Michel climbed onto her back and gave a quiet whistle, tossing a franc to the stable boy Alain, who grinned unnaturally widely as his fingers closed around the shining coin.

Belle and Raymond-Michel flew through the sand that lined the beach, sometimes riding through puddles that splashed his boots and dark pants. Silence surrounded them, and they moved quickly through the night.

Somewhere near, Lisette waited.

He would not disappoint her.

---

Lisette was sitting in front of her mirror, brushing her long hair and humming a soft song. Her window was open to her balcony, the silk curtains blowing in the breeze.

She sighed happily. A note had come earlier, secretly announcing that Rémy would come to see her. Happiness welled inside her, and she let her hair fall delicate and dark around her shoulders. Her white robe tickled her wrists, and she stared out the window as she rubbed her hands up her arms. Rémy was coming, and although he cared not a whit what she looked like besides her natural characteristics, she loved to look her best for him.

She heard a soft whistle from outside, and Lisette all but flew to the window, peeking out from between the curtains. Her cheeks blushed with joy as she saw Rémy, her Rémy, looking up at her. He smiled, blew a kiss, and climbed up to her. She slipped out of her window and they embraced on the balcony.

"Rémy," she breathed into his neck. She felt him smile against her hair.

"My own, sweet Lisette," he whispered. "How I wish the night were longer."

Lisette pulled back a little, pouting. His arms had worked their way around her waist, and she placed her hands against his chest inside his dark cloak. "And how I wish all our wishes would change the world. Do not be so sad, you know I hate it when you are sad." He smiled at her, and drew her closer. She tilted her head up. He leaned down, his lips almost brushing hers.

"When I am with you, I am only happy."

Their lips came together, and they kissed with youthful passion. Lisette's hands snaked around Rémy's neck, and she sighed with contentment. Rémy pulled away suddenly.

"Your eyes are so beautiful in this half-moonlight, I want to remember them." Lisette shook her head. "They are, Lisette. They are shining, and I am beyond happiness, knowing I can make your eyes so joyful." Lisette buried her face in his chest, blushing. He made her feel like a foolish little girl.

"Sweet little one," he said, stroking her hair. "How I wish we could run away together." Lisette trembled a little in his embrace, her speech muffled against his shirt. "I know, love. I wish that fate upon no one. I could never do it, nor could you. We are too kind to the others that we love."

"Oh, why are we so unfortunate as to have to suffer as we do?" Lisette cried softly. Her eyes brimmed, heavy and salty like the air. She closed her eyes, and Rémy kissed the tears away as they ran frantically down her cheeks.

"God sends us these obstacles to see how strong our love is. If we can persevere, I know we will be together." Rémy rocked her in his arms, turning on the spot as he improvised a waltz. He hummed; she felt his throat moving as he lay his head on hers. "Dance with me," he said.

She danced, unable to say no even as her sadness dampened her Rémy's clothes.

---

A knock at Lisette's door awoke her as she lay on her bed. She recalled Rémy picking her up and taking her into her bed; he had held her until she fell asleep. Now, she was alone, holding herself, and being rudely awoken.

"What is it?" she groaned. "Come in."

The door opened and one of the maids, Élodie, came in with a tray brimming with breakfast. Lisette frowned. "Did I sleep through breakfast again?"

"_Oui, madamoiselle_." Élodie gave a tiny, apologetic smile. "Your papa and aunt said it was best if you were allowed to sleep."

Lisette nodded, weariness still invading her eyes. She yawned and stretched her arms. She sat up in bed, blinking her heavy eyelids. "What is for breakfast today, Élodie?"

"There is hot chocolate, I know you like that. And two crèpes." Lisette smiled; her aunt's cook knew all her favorites. She stood, slipping her legs from under her covers, and went over to the small table by her window.

"Goodness!" Élodie suddenly raced to the window. "The window was open! Why, I was so sure I closed it yesterday," she said, distraught.

Lisette lay a hand quickly on Élodie's arm. "Do not be distressed. I opened it, for it was warm in here." Élodie looked at her suspiciously, but sighed.

"Very well. Now, eat before it gets too cold."

Lisette dug into her breakfast.

---

Rémy lay on his bed in his pants and a white shirt, his bare feet catching whispers of the air blowing in from the balcony. Lisette had looked so peaceful when he had laid her on her bed, like a dark-haired angel. Rémy had kissed her even after she had fallen asleep, and only sense kept him from staying with her and holding her in his arms. What he wouldn't give to awaken beside her.

He sighed. He'd never imagined love to be so daunting a thing. Rémy felt twice his age with the knowledge of the wrong he was doing at night, and he was only twenty. How his parents would act, he did not want to know.

Once again, he found himself wishing he was not so dreadfully attached to his life, and she to hers. For either of them to leave their homes to marry would make them both miserable, and he could never stand it. He was used to his parents, needed them, and the freedom his wealth offered him. And she was Jewish, too religious to marry what she called a goy; and all this besides her four beloved brothers, and a father, and an aunt.

How could either of them hope to survive without the acceptance of those they held dear? Even deception, as they practiced now, was better than cowardly running away. No, they would face their troubles.

He wished she lived in Cagnes-sur-Mer. She only came in the summers; he only came when his parents wanted to. Which was mostly in the summers, truly, but still. Rémy would have been able to make them stay there, if there was a reason. Even if he could never tell them.

A knock at his door distracted him. "Come in." The door opened to reveal one of the older maids, an rather snippy, but kind, woman who all called Madame Rouge, due to her once-red hair that now fell gray about her lined face.

She carried breakfast, and to complete the image, an apron wrapped around her full stomach. "_Bonjour, _Raymond_. Ça-va_?"

Rémy snorted. "It's Raymond-Michel, Madame R, or Rémy. Not Raymond."

Madame Rouge snorted and put her hands on her hips. "Raymond-Michel is a mouthful, and Rémy's for a little boy. You're no _petit garçon_ anymore." Her almost Spanish accent rang loudly in his room; her hometown just north of the Pyrenees made her speech much different from well-bred Rémy's. He gave a dramatic sigh.

"Well, I shall suffer."

"You'd better be eating, then, Raymond. Your father's got a man coming for talk about his money, and you know he likes you to listen and learn. At least you're dressed, if only a bit. I'll fetch your other bits of attire."

He groaned and sat up, scratching his scalp. He scarfed down his food, not caring for its taste. Lisette's taste still mingled in his senses. The tea, though, cut through her sweet taste, and he nearly spat it back up until he remembered to mix in some sugar. Madame Rouge came back directly.

"Here you are, Raymond. Be quick, won't you."

"_Oui_, Madame R. Thanks very much." She shut the door behind her on her way out, and Rémy heaved another sigh. "This is going to be a very long day." He tucked his shirt in more properly, and pulled on a dark green vest and black waistcoat. He smoothed his light brown hair behind his hears and over his forehead, scratching the back of his neck and fastening his gold cross around his neck.

He sat quickly at his desk, and pulled out a bit of stationary and began to write. After a few moments, he quickly folded the letter and put it in an envelope, which he addressed to Mlle L. Leblanc. He raced down the stairs and into the stables.

"Alain, man, come down from there!" he called into the hayloft. The stable boy came down the ladder with an easy, acquired grace and turned to Rémy.

"_Oui_?" His darkly tanned skin looked awkward next to his almost flaxen hair, but Alain had always been rather awkward, aside from his physical perfection. "Another letter?" Rémy glanced around, looking for the other stable workers. Alain picked up on this, and said, "Richard is out exercising the roan, and Patrick is out somewhere, doing something."

"You're lucky you've got good hearing, Alain," Rémy said almost sourly. "Yes, it's another letter. Get it to her as soon as Richard or Patrick gets back. Here." Rémy tossed him another franc.

"If I'm lucky I've got good hearing, you're pretty lucky your pockets are so big, eh?" Alain said with a good-natured grin. "You know I don't need the money. I owe you, you got me this job."

"Ha, don't give me that. You need every _sou_ you can get to keep that mouth of yours shut."

Alain snorted and disappeared into the stall where Rémy's beloved mare Belle stood. He took a sugar cube from his pocket, and held out his hand. Belle snatched it up eagerly; Alain turned back to Rémy. "I just made her excited, so you'll have a good ride. Sugar has that effect on her."

"_Merci_," Rémy said, swinging into Belle's saddle. He needed a ride in the salty air to clear his head, and perhaps his eyes, of Lisette so he might (might!) pay attention to his father's financial meeting.

Even as the air on the beach stung his eyes, he knew he fought a losing battle.

---

Lisette sighed as Élodie laced her corset. "I can't imagine what this must be for you, Élodie, having to tie all these strings. And just to make me look unnaturally thin."

"Come, now, Lisette, you would look very out of the mode without one. You'll never make a good catch that way."

"Élodie, you sound just like the imitations of matchmakers Aba and Aunt Élise make." Élodie laughed. "You do, though."

"If you say so. Here, wear this blue dress today, it matches the sea."

Lisette looked at the aqua dress and frowned. It was very feminine, more feminine than usual. "Why, whatever is going on today?" she asked. "That's not a dress for everyday wear."

"Oh, no, but the comte de Provence and his son are coming to tea today and your Papa wants everyone to look very nice. We don't often have comtes coming to tea with us, you know."

Lisette had heard nothing after 'and his son'. Rémy would be there, at her house, in less than twelve hours! Lord, nothing could be more frightening.

She struggled to maintain her composure. "Yes, well, that dress will be very nice. I shall wear my silver, shall I?"

"Indeed, an excellent idea."

Lisette put on the dress, trembling a little. She brushed her hair carefully and had Élodie put it into a fancy set of small braids entwined on the back of her head, which took the better part of an hour.

But Élodie could not help exclaiming in praise of how lovely Lisette surely looked, in her well-made hair. Lisette smiled, and in turn praised Élodie for her masterful handiwork.

Then, Élodie snapped her fingers. "That's right," she said. "Your mother wants to see you before they arrive. You should go, that is if you plan to practice on the pianoforte before they come, so you might play something for them."

"Heavens above, Élodie, you know I cannot play the piano if my life depended on it. But I will practice, just so you can hear how awful it is to the ears." Élodie laughed, and Lisette smiled. "I will go to my mother now, _oui_? _Oui_."

Lisette and dress flounced out of the rom, leaving a chortling Élodie to clean up the breakfast tray.

---

Rémy sat in the carriage, hands slightly damp. He wiped them on his pants, the soft creases seeming ugly and harsh.

"Raymond-Michel, you seem nervous as a babe. Pray don't look so awkward while we are talking with the Leblancs. They are holders of a great fortune. It would be most helpful to make an alliance with them." Rémy's father inspected his fingernails, then smiled at his son. "I have heard he has four sons, and one especially lovely daughter."

Rémy blanched.

His mother gave a laugh. "My dear Rémy! How white you are. Do not be so ashamed, I have seen Madamoiselle Leblanc and she is indeed a heavenly creature. I would not be ill at ease at all if you were to tell me you found yourself taken by her."

"Nor would I, but we must learn a little about these people, Marie," his father said. Marie de Provence sighed. "But Raymond-Michel, do behave. If you do not, I shall sell your mare."

"Under that threat, papa, I shall surely behave."

The carriage rolled to a halt, and Rémy stepped out of the carriage, staring at the mansion's facade. He decided it was much more beautiful in the day.

Rémy's father strolled with Marie on his arm; Rémy trailed behind. His father pulled the bell, and a butler opened the door.

"Monsieur le comte," the butler said, and bowed. He had a very straight part, and salt-colored hair. "Comtess," he added. To Rémy, he gave a respectful nod. Rémy nodded back. "Do follow me, _s'il vous plaît_."

The butler led them into the house. Rémy paused when he heard music wafting out from behind a partially open door. The butler turned, and smiled slightly. Rémy was surprised he could smile; his butler's expression was always stoic.

"That is Madamoiselle Leblanc playing. She is a lovely musician." The butler knocked slightly on the door, and the playing slowed.

"Come in," came Lisette's voice. Rémy's knees were weak as the butler opened the door, and Lisette appeared sitting at the piano, wearing a beautiful aqua dress and an amazing style in her hair. The piano resumed, an almost lively song that made Rémy tap his toe inside his shoe.

When the song was done, Rémy applauded automatically, as did his parents. The butler had disappeared, and Lisette spun in the seat quickly. She stood and curtseyed. "_Bonjour_," she said. "_Bienvenue_."

The butler came back, and in came Lisette's father and aunt. "Monsieur le comte," the woman said warmly, coming forward. Rémy and Lisette stared at each other for a long moment. "I am so happy you could come."

"It is our pleasure," Rémy's father said, kissing his hostess's hand. "Madame Vogenberg." Marie came forward as well, smiling warmly. "This is my wife, Marie, and my son, Raymond-Michel."

"_Enchantée_. I am Élise Vogenberg," she said, smiling. "And I see you have already encountered my niece, Lisette Leblanc." They all turned back to Lisette, who curtseyed. The comte came and kissed her hand, and Lisette smiled and bowed her head to the comtess. Rémy came over last, and kissed her hand.

If she had not been leaning her knee against the piano bench, Lisette knew she would have fallen straight into his arms.

His kiss burned her skin, and she drowned in his eyes.


	9. For Naamah

_10 March, 1865; Persia._

"What is wrong?" the architect repeated.

Lisette looked up at him, eyes filming. "Rémy," she said, louder. "Ré- no, never mind." Lisette stepped farther back. "It is not important."

"If it is affecting you so, of course it is important," he growled.

"Rémy! Rémy is wrong!" Lisette said.

"Who is Rémy?" The architect seemed wary of her now, and her crazed sadness.

"Rémy is close to my heart, and I was saddened. I am so sorry, monsieur. It's just- I have missed him."

"I see."

A knock sounded on the door, and Lisette blanched. The architect leapt into action, pushing her into a room adjoining the sitting room and closing the door behind her. Lisette dimly heard him greeting the sultana with a cool tone before she managed to slip out of his window and run like the wind away, back to the harem.

---

Lisette leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. She stumbled a little, her bare feet burning with sweat. She gasped for air, digging her fingers into the smooth walls.

After a few moments, she came across Oman, the eunuch who had bade Naamah to go to the sultana.

"Oman!" Lisette cried, dropping to her knees and clinging to his hands. "Oman!"

He stared at her, then quickly hauled her to her feet. "Are you drunk, girl? Come to your senses and get up."

"Oman, where is Naamah? I need to find her, Oman."

Oman frowned. "Why are you so worried? Girls are taken from the harem all the time."

"She is my kinsman, Oman, a Jew." Lisette dropped her voice to a whisper. "I need to save her, for I will die of guilt if I do not."

Oman glanced about. "I will help you. Naamah helped me once, and I know she would never want to be where she is now. But come, there is not a moment to lose."

Oman took Lisette's hand and dragged her away.

They ran, together, under the Arabian sun.

---

Lisette felt weak at the knees by the time she and Oman made it to the largest building in the shah's complex. Oman slowed then, running a hand through his clipped hair.

"This could cost us both our lives, girl. I hold that over your head, in hope that you will see the foolishness of your desire to save your friend."

Lisette only looked at him, a strange, foreign determination forming in her eyes. Oman blinked. "I am beyond caring for my life, Oman, but when an opportunity presents itself to you, you hold it closer than anything else," she said, speaking as though it were a promise. With that, Oman nodded and led her to a small side door.

He spoke to a guard who stood there, and Lisette cast her gaze down demurely. The guard grunted, annoyed at the disturbance from his silent watchfulness, and Oman and Lisette passed through the door. Lisette breathed after realizing she had been holding her breath.

Oman whispered to her. "There are secret passages; I know of one in the next hallway. But I must go distract the shah's son, so you might meet Naamah alone." Lisette nodded, and Oman gestured to a hallway to the left. "Go three paces- a little long, for you- and lean against the wall, and pull on the candelabra. Walk until you come to a turn, and then take a left. You will find yourself behind a wall where Naamah will be."

Lisette nodded again, eyes still shining strangely in the dim light of the corridor. Oman pressed his hand onto her shoulder and left, and Lisette paused for a moment before quickly moving to the hallway Oman had indicated. It was narrow and led to a single door; hearing footsteps, Lisette leaned on the wall and pulled on the specified candelabra; the wall fell inward, and she fell in on her back. The wall slid shut behind her.

She squinted in the darkness before standing hesitantly. She made out very little in the blackness of the passage, which was barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast in. Lisette shuddered when she realized it would have been a good size for the shah.

Feeling the wall with one hand and holding the other in front of her, Lisette moved slowly and with deliberation. She breathed quietly, afraid of something popping out in front of her.

When her outstretched hand hit a wall in front of her and her hand that had lingered on the wall met only open air, she turned left and found a slight light before her, brightest through a small peephole an inch or two higher than her eye; she rose on her tiptoes and looked through.

She sighed, relieved, when she saw Naamah sitting there, alone, staring at something and looking very sad. "Naamah," Lisette whispered. Naamah looked up and around, suspicious. "It's Lisette," she said.

Naamah gave a gasp of awe. "Where, I cannot see you?" Lisette told Naamah how to turn, and then Naamah caught sight of Lisette's eye. She rushed forward, and pressed her hands against the wall. Suddenly, it gave a shudder and moved aside, and Naamah fell forward into Lisette's arms, sobbing with relief. Lisette pulled her back as the wall slid back into place like the other had, and sank down to the cool floor as Naamah sobbed.

"Hush, hush," Lisette whispered. "We must be gone from here, Naamah, we will be found." Naamah sniffled and nodded; Lisette had adjusted to the darkness and stood with Naamah clutching to her fingers. "Come," Lisette said; she felt a sudden connection to the architect, Erik.

Naamah followed Lisette, who took a right at the intersection of the secret passages and moved to the end, pressing upon the wall and praying no one would see.

The wall slid aside, and Lisette pulled Naamah through before the wall moved back into place behind them. Lisette moved quickly back through the wall, pulling Naamah with her. She came to the door, and the guard started at the sight of the two of them. Naamah quickly pulled off some of the gold jewelry that someone had draped around her neck, and pressed it to the guard's chest, eyes pleading silently.

He moved backwards, eyes staring after them. They moved back into the sun, and flew across the sand. A figure moved towards them; Naamah gasped with horror, but Lisette ran even faster towards it. "Vadim! Vadim!" Lisette whispered in ragged breaths. She clung to her eunuch friend, and both girls panted for breath.

"Come, come with me," Lisette said. "Follow me!"

Lisette moved quicker than before towards the long, low building where she had spoken with Erik in a time that seemed years ago. Their footfalls on the sand were quiet, but Lisette knew the sound of it; they were close behind her. She pulled them both along and to a halt when they came to an open window. "Quiet," she said, strangely taking charge.

She slipped in through the window, energy still running through her as Vadim and Naamah clung to each other for support on their tired legs. The architect's bedroom was as it had been, but the door was a little open now, and Lisette heard the architect pacing. She knew he was alone.

"Erik!" Lisette pushed open the door, and he turned to her, shocked. She raced to him, and somehow they ended up embracing each other. Lisette did not move; she felt more intimately connected and in debt to the architect than ever.

After a moment, he pushed her away, suddenly embarrassed. "Did you wait in there the whole time, Lisette?"

Lisette shuddered; his voice pierced her senses and made her knees weaker than before. Her face was flushed from her run, and she shook her head, moving back to his bedchamber and beckoning Vadim and Naamah inside. The architect started.

"What are they doing here?" he growled.

Lisette shivered at his anger; her eyes pleaded with him. "Please," she said, sounding weaker than ever.

Staring down at her, Erik's gaze flickered to Naamah and Vadim. He nodded.

"We leave at nightfall."

---

Lisette went back to her room. She took her black tunic and two long rags to bind about her feet to keep them safe from scratches. She did not know how they would escape, but she knew her feet needed to be kept protected. She sat down heavily on her pallet-bed and began to wrap her feet.

A knock on her door set her on edge, and she quickly pulled the rags from her feet. "Enter," she said.

Oman opened the door and slipped in, shutting it behind him. He sat down next to her on her bed, and held out his hand to her. "Here," he said. Lisette looked at what he held, and gasped. It was a small bag, but full close to bursting with gold coins. They shone, and Lisette shook her head.

"Take it, girl," Oman said gruffly. "It's for Naamah, so she can make a new life for herself. Tell her who it's from, girl." He put the back next to her, and Lisette suddenly embraced Oman about the neck. "I know I'll probably be beaten terribly, but you and Naamah- you deserve freedom. Go, now. The sun has set. Your escape will be best brought about in darkness."

Lisette let him go, and he left.

She stared down at the small back, and out her window. Darkness was creeping into the sky, and she gasped. Lisette quickly bound her feet, and was out her window in a flash.

She moved across the Arabian sand alone for the last time, and the sand filed between the straps of her bound feet.


	10. Persian Epilogue

_14 March, 1865; Caspian Sea._

Lisette stood at the front of the ship, the bulwark pressing against her stomach with a reassuring reality. She looked across the sea and breathed in the air with a faint smile.

She looked down upon her new dress, which Erik had bought her. It was in the French fashion, and fit her perfectly; Lisette had wondered how he had known her exact size. It was dark green, and trimmed with simple, yet delicate, white lace along the sleeves, neckline, and hem. Her corset felt almost restrictive after her loose cotton tunics in the harem, but it was a return to her old life that she appreciated with adoration. It clung to her stomach and hips with old familiarity.

A presence next to her cast a shadow from the low-hanging sun, but Lisette did not move. She knew who it was; only Erik could move so silently and surely on the rocking contraption on the waves. She recalled the previous night, when they had walked along the shore of the Caspian in Resht near the docks.

---

Lisette had shed the jilbab that she had acquired and now stood in the water in a long shift that hugged her hips and fell to her knees. She stood barefoot in the water, which lapped at her ankles as she stepped through the water. Naamah and Vadim had stopped to sit in the fine, damp sand and talk, leaving Lisette and Erik alone in the water.

Lisette had felt a sudden burst of energy and had ran ahead. But she then slowed, and soon the architect caught up to her. His legs and strides were longer.

"Lisette," he said. Lisette turned to him, eyes wide and unassuming. He reached out and took her hand impulsively, and she blushed a little, looking down.

"I want to thank you," she said to him. "You've done so much for me, monsieur-"

"Call me Erik," he said suddenly, stopping and dropping her hand to put his hands gently on her shoulders. She stared up at him, then nodded slowly.

"Thank you," she said. "Erik." She smiled. He drew her closer to him, and embraced her in the darkness. He breathed heavily, closing his eyes and he rested his chin atop her head. She pressed her hands to his chest, but the movement drew him closer to her.

Lisette felt inspired with some song, and realized he had begun to sing. His voice! O, what could move her more powerfully that his voice?

She slipped from between his arms and knelt in the water, eyes closed in blissful pleasure as his song floated around her on the wind. He knelt beside her, and took her face in his hands. She felt the leather that covered them, and she swallowed and opened her eyes.

He was close, and she could not help but lean into his touch. He came closer, and pressed his lips to hers in a chaste kiss. They stayed that way until Vadim called to them, and then they broke apart with awe on both of their faces.

Lisette stared at him for a moment, and he took her hand.

For the first time since she had seen Yvette's clouded eyes on the beach months before, Lisette Leblanc felt redeemed.

---

As the wind whipped her hair about, Lisette reached out her arms a little towards the northwest. "Home awaits, Erik," she said.

He gave a hint of a laugh. "_Oui_," he said. "All of France will rejoice at our return." Lisette turned to him, frowning slightly. His hand automatically went up to touch the frown line between her eyebrows. She sighed at his touch. "Why do you frown?"

"Will you come to Cagnes-sur-Mer, Erik?"

The question was a shock, but not unexpected. "I do not think so, at least not right away." Lisette's shoulders visibly fell; the dark green material folded a new way on her saddened form. "Do not be sad, Lisette, I will come to Cagnes-sur-Mer. Just not for a little while."

"I was expecting that much, I think," Lisette said. "I knew you would not come immediately." Erik wrapped an arm around her shoulders when she shivered a little. "I am not cold."

"But you will miss me, so I will stay with you until I must leave you and Naamah and Vadim to go to Cagnes-sur-Mer."

Lisette sighed. "Nothing will be the same when I return. _Aba_ is dead, and Yvette and Reb Carlis. All I have left," she mused, "are my brothers, and Aunt Élise. And Zayde, but he lives in Nice."

"Zayde?" Lisette's Jewish words had never made sense to the architect; whether he knew they were Jewish or not was something not known to Lisette.

"_Mon grand-père_," she explained. "_Le père de mon père, et ma tante Élise_." Erik nodded, and held her closer.

"Everything changes, Lisette. It changed before you could stop it." Lisette wondered at this. "Do not think of it, you will be sad. Come, just let me hold you, and we will face what comes when it gets here."

Erik held her, and Lisette let him.

The Caspian sea sparkled in the afternoon sun.


	11. Invitations

_May, 1870._

"Madamoiselle?"

Lisette looked up, startled, from her music. "_Oui_? What is it, Élodie?"

Élodie, Lisette's maid of more than half a dozen years, opened the door to the music room. "The viscomte de Chagney is here," Élodie said. Lisette's face lit up.

"A pleasant surprise!" she declared. Lisette had not seen Raoul de Chagney for above three months; although slightly younger than she, Raoul was a perfect gentleman and very charming to be around. Smiling, Lisette Leblanc stood, straightened her skirts around her, and went out into the entrance hallway.

A young man of some twenty-one years of age was admiring a splendid portrait. He had a warm, open face; long, straight brown hair; and a finely structured physique. At the sound of Lisette's light footsteps across the marble floor, he turned, smiling widely.

"Madamoiselle Leblanc," he greeted. He went to her and took her outstretched hands and kissed them. "I am so very delighted to see you again. It has been far too long."

Lisette smiled. "It is always too long, Raoul," she said. "Must you always forget to call me Lisette?"

Raoul laughed. "_Mais oui, ma cherie_," he said. "But come, I have excellent news. So much has happened since we last saw each other!"

---

"You have become the new patron for the Opera Populaire?" Lisette was shocked and delighted. "Raoul, that is so wonderful! How cruel of you, to not tell me as soon as you came in."

"The gala is in a few days, Lisette, and I would be delighted if you came."

Lisette clasped her hands together, her pale skin radiating as she blushed with joy. "The opera! I would not dream of saying no!"

"I'm afraid that you will not be able to sit with me, though. I can only give you two tickets for box seven."

"I shall invite Rémy," Lisette avowed. I shall see you afterwards, of course?"

"Of course."

Lisette smiled widely, and pressed Raoul's hands between her own.

---

Raymond-Michel de Provence groaned, irritated, at the knock on his door. He had been quite immersed in a book by an exiled philosopher, and he was rarely interested in such things. Sighing, he called whoever it was in.

It was no great surprise of Rémy's to see Madame Rouge, his favorite of the de Provence's servants, come in with a tea tray.

"I always think it'll be one of the younger ones who'll have to bring this up," she said, "but no, it's always me, with my poor bad back-"

"Oh, don't be so ridiculous, Madame R, you know that little wispy girl would do it."

"If you mean Charlotte, it's only because she's infatuated with you." Madame Rouge's southern accent laughed along the syllables of 'infatuated'; Rémy had never seemed to be in love with anyone except someone from Cagnes-sur-Mer.

"I know, but we mustn't be unkind," Rémy smiled. "So how goes it? Any news from my parents?" Rémy's parents were currently on a tour of Italy, and according to their schedule, Rémy figured them to be in Venice.

"No news from them, but a letter has come for you. Charlotte says it looks like it's from Mlle Leblanc." Madame Rouge said those last words significantly, and Rémy straightened in his chair.

"Well, where is it? Mlle Leblanc does not send useless letters."

Madame Rouge produced it from her pocket and gave it haughtily to Rémy. "Here, Raymond, and read it well. And drink your tea."

"It's not Raymond, Madame R."

"For me, it is."

Rémy rolled his eyes and tore open his letter from Mlle Lisette Leblanc as Madame Rouge closed the door.

_Mon cher Rémy,_

_My good friend Raoul, the viscomte de Chagney, has invited me to the gala of the Opera Populaire, and he offered me two seats in box seven. I would be more than delighted if you would join me. And keep this quiet: Raoul has become the new patron there! How very exciting!_

_Répondez, s'il vous plaît, as soon as you can._

_Je t'embrasse toujours,_

_Lisette._

Rémy smiled and sprung to his feet. "I shall go! Madame Rouge, come quickly! I will need a new suit!"

---

Upon reading Rémy's response, Lisette spun with it held to her chest.

"A happy outcome, Élodie," she said to her amused maid. "But whatever shall I wear? I have nothing," she moaned, coming to a stop.

"I shall find something for you, madamoiselle," Élodie promised. "And all the men will cast jealous eyes at Monsieur de Provence, for you will be the loveliest lady to be seen!"

"Aren't I usually, then?" Lisette teased. "And would you believe it, Vadim and Naamah have told me they would have gone, if they were not away as well."

"They will miss a great spectacle, I am sure."

"But I, I tell you, will not!"


	12. Fate, and the Naiad

Lisette ran her brush through her hair for the hundred and seventh time. She counted in her head, but other thoughts strayed over the numbers. She had never been as adept at mathematics as her oldest brother Louis, but then her Aunt Élise always said he was a genius as far as numbers were concerned.

_One hundred nine, one hundred ten..._

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. She was only twenty-two, but she felt much older. Lisette knew she looked not a day past eighteen; she recalled her mother had looked like a woman of twenty, not thirty-six, in the year before her death. And her Aunt Élise looked and acted much younger than her 55 years.

But Aunt Élise had never been kidnapped, had she? And had Lisette's mother?

No, of course not. Only Lisette had been forced to live as a slave for six months. She sighed and pushed the brush down onto her vanity table, staring into the mirror and wondering how Rémy had ever seen beauty in her face; how he still could find the beauty in her face.

Lisette had once understood Rémy's love for her, and his declarations of her beauty, but now, all she could see was the worry in her eyes, and the pinched smiles she forced when faced with uncomfortable situations.

If not for Naamah and Vadim, Lisette was sure she would have gone mad years ago. And Erik—

No, she would not think of him. It was more painful than thinking of her father, or of Yvette. They had not lied to her, nor had they made her feel as he had made her feel. She had forgotten all of her family, all of her past, when he had held her on the ship in the Caspian.

How cruel fate was.

----

"Breathe in, madamoiselle."

"Élodie, I am breathing in! Just tie it."

"Oui, madamoiselle."

Élodie, Lisette's faithful maid of more than seven years, tied her mistress's corset with ease. "There, you look very slim. Which gown have you decided on, madamoiselle?"

Lisette glanced at the three gowns that lay on her bed. "Oh, the silver and aqua one, Élodie, please." Élodie went to fetch the petticoats and underskirts while Lisette looked at the other two dresses. One was red silk with charcoal lining; the other was white with pearls sewn into the bodice. She knew she looked fair in all of them.

"Here, madamoiselle."

Lisette raised her arms, and Élodie let the petticoats fall over her head. After a few minutes, Lisette was fully dressed. Élodie fixed her hair, and fastened a lovely necklace around her neck. She dabbed a little rouge onto Lisette's cheeks, and brushed some powder above her eyes.

"You look just like a naiad, madamoiselle, a river fairy!" Élodie exclaimed when Lisette stood and turned for her. Her pretty satin slippers slid silently on the rug, and she smiled shyly.

"_Merci_, Élodie."

Lisette realized she did look lovely. Her hair pulled away from her face into a lovely bun, showing off Lisette's pretty neck. The dress was cut beautifully, and Lisette looked perfectly beautiful in it. She glowed.

"Monsieur de Provence will be unable to speak," Élodie promised her.

For the first time, basking in her lovely reflection, Lisette realized she was truly beautiful.

And when Rémy arrived in his carriage to take her to the gala, he was speechless.

"Madamoiselle Leblanc," he finally said, "you are a vision." Rémy took Lisette's hands and kissed them like they were more precious than his very existence. Lisette blushed with his formality and gaze.

"Rémy," she said with a smile, "you look as handsome as ever." He grinned in return, his eyes shining. Lisette offered him her elbow. "Shall we?"

----

The Opera Populaire was lit up beautifully, and Lisette admired the view while their carriage waited in the queue to reach the front doors. "It is so beautiful, Rémy," she said.

"Just like you, my sweet Lisette."

Lisette blushed. "You are too kind to me, Rémy."

"Never." Rémy took Lisette's hand and squeezed it.

Their carriage rolled to a halt, and Rémy alighted first, and then held his hand out to help Lisette out. Her delicate shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and her fan dangled from her wrist as she took his hand and exited the carriage. A footman came to close the door that was inscribed with the de Provence familial seal, but Lisette's eyes were full of the vision before her.

She had been to a few operas before, but never had she been to the Palais du Garnier, the greatest of the Paris operas, before Raoul had invited her. Rémy noted her ignorance of the many looks she was receiving from other men with some relief.

Lisette felt in the presence of something above tangibility. The golden facade of the opera house seemed a god with open arms, and Lisette and Rémy moved into them, sashaying with the others who congregated to hear the sweet sounds of opera.

Everyone was dressed in their finest; Rémy's uncle Charles, the Comte de Vergennes, was there with his wife Hermine and young daughter Hyacinthe. Raoul was nowhere to be seen, although Lisette was anxious to wish him luck with his new venture. Rémy was not well acquainted with Raoul, but knew he was a fine man who was passionate about the arts.

Lisette and Rémy found their way to Box Seven with the help of an usher who opened the door for them quite grandly. The door closed behind them, and the sounds of the assembling crowd quieted a little. They turned to each other, smiling breathlessly.

"Already it's been an experience," Lisette joked. Rémy laughed.

"The crowds here are very rich. The gala has always been a grand event here. But the usual soprano here, La Carlotta, has supposedly run off. Or so I heard."

"Why, who shall sing her part?" Lisette was shocked.

"I do not know." Rémy smiled at her, though, and offered his elbow. "May I show you to your seat, madamoiselle?" he asked, eyes twinkling. Lisette gave a little laugh and accepted his arm to walk to their plush red seats. Lisette fell into her chair and Rémy took her shawl to lay it across the back of her seat before moving to sit next to her. He faced her, becoming serious.

"Lisette," he said. Lisette looked at him, head tilted slightly, questioning his suddenly earnest tone. "You know I love you." Lisette nodded, frowning slightly.

"Of course I know, and you know I love you as well."

Rémy squared his shoulders. "I've loved you for as long as I've known you," he stated. Lisette nodded again. "And I want to love you, and be with you, until the day I die, Lisette." A deep breath; he stared into her eyes and took out a small box from a pocket in his waistcoat. "Will you marry me?"

Lisette gasped as he opened the box to reveal a diamond ring with a silver band and two aqua gems on either side of the diamond. But she was staring at him. She never would have guessed he would ever ask her to marry him. She'd been so distant until just two years ago, waiting. But now, Lisette knew the person she had been waiting years for would never come.

Rémy had always come for her, and she knew her answer before he asked the question.

"Of course, my Rémy." He gave out a quiet cry of happiness and pulled her to him, and kissed her. She smiled against his lips, content to stay as she was until the gala was over, and perhaps long after.

A heavenly voice pierced their ears, and they pulled away slowly, flushed, to regard a young lovely girl on stage, singing to their love and to the angels in the sky.

---

Lisette felt on the same cloud that the singer had been on as Rémy escorted her out to the foyer to congratulate the new managers and Raoul. Her pale hand was tucked into Rémy's; he smiled down at her constantly and she admired her engagement ring.

She saw one of the managers, and she and Rémy made their way over to him. He turned to them as they approached and smiled widely at them.

Rémy spoke first. "Monsieur, we greatly enjoyed the performance! Your prima donna is an angel, voice and face alike."

"Her name is Christine Daaé, comte, the only child of the famous violinist."

"I heard him once," Lisette said. "He was magnificent. His daughter truly inherited his musical talent, monsieur. I congratulate you on your triumph tonight."

The manager, who then introduced himself as M Firmin, drew away to 'find our viscomte'. Lisette and Rémy stood quietly for a few moments, watching him leave, and then Rémy's aunt and young cousin appeared before them.

"Raymond-Michel, I am delighted to see you," Hermine said. Hermine was only four years Rémy's senior, but she was beautifully mature with her blond hair and violet eyes. She kissed his cheeks. "And who is your lovely companion?" she asked, eyes shining at Lisette.

"This is Lisette Leblanc, aunt," Rémy said. He looked down at her and smiled. "My fiancée."

Little Hyacinthe gave a little cry of delight. "Oh, Maman! There will be a wedding!" She ran and hugged her cousin around the middle. Lisette gave a little laugh at the eleven-year old's enthusiasm. "Maman, will I be allowed to go?" Hyacinthe asked, her indigo eyes wide.

"Of course, _cherie_," her mother laughed.

"It would not be complete without you there," Rémy said. "Perhaps you would like to scatter flowers in front of Mlle Leblanc as she walked down the aisle?" Hyacinthe gasped in delight, and looked at Lisette, seeking accord.

"I would be delighted to follow such a beautiful young lady," Lisette assured. "You will wear something to make you more angelic than you already are."

"Like the singer we saw?" Hyacinthe asked. "She was like an angel."

Lisette gave a perplexed smile. "Yes, like Miss Daaé, I suppose. Only you will not be on a stage."

"I want to, though," she said. "One day, I am going to be like Miss Daaé, and make music."

"Lisette's mother sang in the Venetian opera," Rémy put in.

"Can you sing, madamoiselle?" Hermine asked.

"Not nearly as well as she, comtess."

"Don't listen to her. Lisette can sing like a seraphim, aunt," Rémy said. "Actually, no, not like a seraphim. Lisette is my seraphim."

Hermine gave a little laugh. "Madamoiselle Leblanc, you are the luckiest woman alive."

Lisette smiled at her aunt-to-be. "That much, I know."


	13. Letters

_Goy_: (Yiddish) a non-Jew.

_Salût_: (French) Hi.

_Mon dieu!_: (French) My god!

* * *

Something in the spring of Lisette's step must have alerted Élodie, for the maid was instantly alert as soon as the young woman flopped down on her bed, still in her silver and aqua gown with a smile wide on her face.

"Madamoiselle, that ring!" Élodie cried out in astonishment. She rushed from where she had stood as Lisette sat up and extended her hand for her maid to see. "Why, who gave it to you, madamoiselle? It's so lovely!"

"My Rémy gave it to me, Élodie," Lisette said. "I am going to be a married woman."

Élodie could not contain her gasp; her hands flew to her breast and she placed herself down onto the bed next to Lisette. "You are engaged?" she whispered, her eyes wide and shining with joy. "Oh, what a wonderful day! I never thought I'd see the day when I could congratulate you on becoming engaged, Lisette!" Élodie's face suddenly paled. "Oh, mon dieu, I did not mean—"

"No, it is all forgotten! Everything is forgotten. I am so happy."

Lisette closed her eyes, and smiled, with Élodie's happy peals of laughter echoing in her mind.

Everything was good. Everything was whole.

Everything was forgotten.

---

Élodie let Lisette sleep later than usual the next morning, even though little Benoit was coming with Pierre. Élodie was almost whistling as she went into the kitchen to eat.

The butler, Henri, and his wife Juliette, the cook, were chatting with the other maid Myriam. Henri and Juliette were both in their forties, and Myriam was fifteen. She was the only one of them that practiced the same strange religion as Lisette. Henri, Juliette, and Élodie were all Catholic.

When Élodie slipped into her seat, she folded her hands together and whispered thanks to the Lord for the food given to her, and then took a bite from a crèpe that Juliette slid onto her plate from a pan.

Myriam was talking animatedly about the headlines that had been in the papers. "The young woman who sang at the Opera yesterday has disappeared!" she said to Élodie. "Everything thinks it must've been the vicomte, and that he is her lover. They say he was the last to see her before she disappeared."

Élodie glanced at a grinning Henri before replying. "How interesting," she said. "I hope she returns very soon."

"She sings like an angel is what I heard from Paulette next door," Juliette said. "Much better than that fussy Italian soprano, La Carlotta."

"I'll have you know, my dear, this is her fifth season." Henri gestured with his fork. "She must be at least thirty by now, and this new find can't be more than eighteen."

"Her name's Christine Daaé, and she's seventeen, Henri," Myriam informed them. "Her father was a famous violinist."

"Music does seem to run in families, doesn't it," Juliette said. "Madamoiselle Leblanc's mother was very musical, and look how well her daughter can play the piano! And she sings very well, even though she's quite untrained. Imagine how well she would sing if she had the same coaching as La Carlotta, or this Miss Daaé."

"Imagine indeed," Élodie said. "Why, she would have all of France, and perhaps all of Europe, even, at her feet! Besides, she is so lovely that all the men will want to have her anyways."

"It is a pity our mistress isn't married," Henri said. "She could make someone very happy."

"Oh my, I forgot to tell you all!" Élodie exclaimed. "She is engaged, to Monsieur de Provence! And he will be a comte when his father dies, God forbid." Élodie crossed herself.

"Engaged!" Myriam cried out. "Engaged! Oh, happy hour!" The young girl bounced in her chair, clapping her hands together. "And to such a good, handsome man, too!"

"Don't hurt yourself, Myriam," Élodie smiled. Having finished her crèpe and her juice, she stood and brought her dish to the sink. "I'm going to tidy the parlor so when the madamoiselle's brothers arrive, they see how neat and clean their sister can make a house by herself."

"Oh, Élodie, ask mamselle if she saw Miss Daaé! And what she looked like."

Élodie rolled her eyes but acquiesced, leaving the others to the talk and food.

---

Lisette hummed in her half-awakened state of slumber, eyes still closed but mind spinning with thoughts. Happy thoughts, even! She could not remember ever being so happy. She did not know if even _he_ had made her so happy.

And even thoughts of him could not lessen her joy. He had lied to her, broken her heart— and yet with Rémy's proposal, nothing was wrong.

A knock at her door roused her completely, and she heard Élodie calling her name softly.

"_Oui_, Élodie?" Lisette said.

The door opened, and Élodie entered bearing a platter with a crèpe and hot chocolate. "Good morning," she smiled. "And before I forget, Myriam would like to know if you saw this magical Miss Daaé, and what she looks like."

Lisette gave a giggle. Myriam always loved to know the goings-on of Paris. "Tell Myriam that Miss Daaé could be an angel. She is beautiful and has the most enchanting voice I've ever heard." After a slight pause, Lisette added, "Not including my esteemed mother, of course."

"Of course," Élodie agreed. She set down the tray on a small table near Lisette's bed and smoothed out her skirt. "Your two brothers will be arriving in a little more than an hour, madamoiselle. I apologize for not waking you earlier, but I thought it would be most beneficial for you to get sleep so you are prepared for them."

Lisette laughed, and nodded. "I agree with your reasoning, Élodie. Now, what shall I wear? Perhaps my pale green and white?" Élodie clapped her hands in agreement and went to fetch it from the boudoir. "I could not be any happier, Élodie," Lisette declared. "Nothing reasonable could make me happier."

"Reasonable, madamoiselle?"

Lisette rolled her eyes. "Certainly if my parents came back to me I would be beyond joy. But that is not possible, so I could not be happier. Do you see?"

"Yes, of course." Élodie's perplexed smile made Lisette sigh dramatically as she moved behind her dressing screen to put on her dress with her maid's help.

---

Benoit and Pierre Leblanc descended from their carriage to approach the front door of their sister's Paris residence. Pierre, the elder of the, moved lightly up the few steps to pull the bell. Eighteen-year old Benoit paused in front of the stairs and knelt to pick up a white envelope next to the brick pathway leading to the door.

Frowning, Benoit brushed off the dirt from the crisp paper. It was addressed to Mlle L. Leblanc, and when Benoit turned the envelope over, he flinched noticeably.

"What?" Pierre inquired.

Benoit held up the letter, frowning. "It's for Lisette," he said, "but the seal- it's a skull, Pierre." Pierre extended his hand for the letter, his face dark, but Benoit put it in his pocket. "I'll give it to her, Pierre, I found it, after all."

Pierre rolled his eyes, and ran a hand through his dark brown hair, thanking God he only had one younger brother. "Poor, poor Louis. How he must suffer, with three little brothers."

Benoit laughed as the door opened. Henri, the butler, gave a short bow. "Bonjour, messieurs," he said. "Do come this way."

"Bonjour," the brothers said. A young girl came to take their coats and put them in a small closet off the entrance hall; Henri led them into the parlor where the two sat down, Pierre in a chair, Benoit on the couch. Benoit took the envelope from his pocket.

"Funny," he said, "the ink is red as well as the seal."

"What is red?" It was Lisette, their sister, and they turned with wide smiles.

"Salût, Lisette! How are you?" Pierre said. Benoit lifted a hand in greeting.

"I am excellent," Lisette said. She went and kissed each of their cheeks, and sat beside Benoit on the couch. "What is red, Benoit?"

"This." Benoit showed her the letter. "It is for you, it was in the dirt by your path. I think someone may have left it on the doorstep." Lisette shrugged, looking at the seal with some distrust. "Do you know who it could be from?" She shook her head as she opened the letter, her expression perplexed. But as her eyes moved down the page, her features hardened, and her hand shook. "Lisette? Is something wrong?" Benoit said.

Her hands stilled, with great effort. "No, no, little Benoit, nothing is amiss." Lisette carefully arranged her features into a smile. "Nothing of any great importance." She finished the letter, and as soon as she finished it, she stood from the couch, the envelope falling to the floor as she crossed to the fireplace, where a small fire burned. She threw the letter into the fire, and watched it burn. She placed a hand on the mantelpiece to steady herself, and Pierre came to her side and put an arm around her shoulder to lead her back to the couch.

But Lisette resisted, her face back into a natural smile. "No, no, do not be distressed, Pierre," she said. "I'm the happiest and luckiest woman in the world."

"How so?" Benoit said, his green eyes bright. All Lisette did was hold out her hand, and then her brothers saw the ring on her finger. "Engaged!" Benoit laughed out loud. "Good heavens, it's about time, you silly girl!"

"Benoit, you're younger than I am! I'm surprised you've not caught yourself a girl," she teased.

"I think he has, sister," Pierre said. "This is a beautiful ring. Now, the question of fate: To whom are you to be married?"

"My Rémy, and you cannot ruin my happiness, _goy_ or not." Lisette's eyes hardened, but Pierre only squeezed her hand.

"Who am I to deny you of anything, sweet one?"

Lisette closed her eyes, her brothers' arms entwined around her, and smiled.

---

Raoul, the vicomte de Chagny, stood in his bedroom and ran his eyes once again over the note that a servant had just brought up for him.

_Do not fear for Miss Daae. The Angel of Music has her under his wing. Make no attempt to see her again._

Something clicked in his head. "'What Lotte likes best, she said, is when the Angel of Music sings songs in her head.'" Raoul's eyes widened. "The opera."


End file.
